


Words offer the means to meaning

by DancingInTheRain



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky earns an online blog, Ex-soldier!Steve, Fluff, Library AU, M/M, Slow Burn, Steve is a librarian, alternative universe, difficult mother/son-relationship, eventually sex, no superpowers, traumatised!Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingInTheRain/pseuds/DancingInTheRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes, more-or-less famous owner of an Online-Blog, needs a secluded and quiet place to get his work done. His decision to join a library might not look like something big or essential for his life - but it changes it nevertheless...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first published Stucky fic(and I'm a little nervous in fact). This work is not betad and English is not my mothertongue, so please be gentle to me :) I hope you enjoy and let me know, what you think!

‘And a tall Chai Latte for…Bucky?’ The woman behind the Starbucks-counter looks mildly confused about the name, but he’s used to it. 

‘That’s me’, he exclaims, squeezing his way through the little crowd gathered to take up their orders. He rounds two bored looking dangly teenagers chewing gum and picks up the paper cup with the bright green logo. The woman gives him another look, to which Bucky rises his eyebrows. 

‘What? That’s my given name, I didn’t pick it myself, y’know?’

She blushes a little and hastily turns away to get back to the coffees and frappuccinos that wait to be made while Bucky worms his way to the store’s exit.

Technically, that’s not true. ‘Bucky’ is very much not his given name, James is. But only his mother and several other relatives ever call him that and it’s enough reason to not go by this name entirely. These days, he doesn’t listen to James, but only to Bucky. His friends gave him that nickname, the short version of his middle-name, Buchanan. He has to suppress the urge to snort out loud whenever he even thinks that name. What on earth was his mother thinking, giving him THAT name?  
As far as he knows, there was a James Buchanan Duke in the early 20th century who invented American Tobacco. Given the fact that his mother smokes like a chimney, that’s likely where she got the name from (or the president, but he likes his theory better). It has a ring to it, he has to admit. James Buchanan Barnes. Could be worse. And people like it, if the recent reader-numbers of his online articles are anything to go by. 

Bucky shoves the musing about his name aside and looks around, spotting an empty bench in the little park nearby. Picking up his pace, he makes his way over before anyone else can occupy the seat. He needs to work, after all. Placing his briefcase next to him, he fishes out his iPad, sipping at his Latte while he waits for his mail program to fire up. 

There are at least a dozen advertisement mails that technically shouldn’t be in his inbox in the first place – there’s a reason this is his work email and given the fact that he’s not responsible for sorting out advertisement, these really shouldn’t be here – one mail from one of his cousins, asking (again) if he’s coming down to Michigan this weekend because of some ‘super awesome barbecue party with hot chicks’ or whatever, and several automated mails that inform him on the stats of his last article. 

Bucky shifts the advertisement mails into his spam folder, in case Darcy didn’t get them for some reason and he has to pass them on to her, deletes his cousin’s message without a hint of regret – he briefly wonders how long it will take his extended family circle to actually realize he’s not into girls at all – and briefly overlooks the statistics, which are looking good so far. Balancing the iPad on his knees, Bucky reopens the document he has been working on in the tube and looks around in the park, trying to pick up where he left off writing. The weather is nice, sun shining and the sky blue, so there are a lot of families around him, sprawled out on picnic blankets or playing football. It’s a nice image and Bucky’s glad those parents are responsible enough to take their kids out on a beautiful day instead of shoving them in front of the TV at home to shut them up all day. Like his mother did.

His thoughts are interrupted by his phone ringing. He’s got three ringtones: one for relatives (which go directly to voicemail), one for his employees and friends (which are basically the same) and one for foreign numbers. Always look on the bright side of life happily tootles out of the speakers, so Bucky takes the call without checking the ID.

‘Barnes?’

‘Good morning, sunshine, the earth says hello.’

Bucky snorts and takes another sip of coffee. ‘You should really stop watching Tim Burton movies, you know?’

Natasha makes a noise of protest. ‘Never ever! Anyways, we might have a slight change of schedule ahead.’

‘We might?’ Bucky raises his eyebrows, resisting the urge to bang his head on the wooden bench he’s sitting on. ‘What does that translate to?’

‘To the fact that Jane caught the flu her Scandinavian boyfriend imported and ergo, will not be able to deliver the scientific articles for the rest of the week.’  
Bucky burns his tongue on the too hot coffee and starts cursing. Natasha tuts at him. 

‘Language, Sir. Would you kiss your mother with that mouth?’

‘I wouldn’t kiss my mother if my life depended on it’, Barnes answers dryly, making her snicker. 

‘So, what are the plans on rescheduling? What should I tell the others?’

Bucky’s thinking a mile a minute, mentally checking the list of articles they have to supply to the blog in the next days. Places the coffee on the bench next to him carefully to drag a hand down his face. On the grass next to him, a small girl starts whining and eventually crying about something her mother won’t give her. It’s a shrill sound at the edge of Bucky’s mind, adding to the dull pressure starting to build in his chest and he feels the beginning of a headache behind his temple. 

‘Okay…okay, we have to…how’s Barton’s schedule for this week?’

Natasha types away on her keyboard for a moment. ‘Uh, not good. He has two big and one small article, plus the special section we want to get out next week. I don’t think he can take anything besides that.’

‘How about you?’

Another pause, then Natasha replies: ‘Two small columns. That’s the most I can squeeze in between my own work, the Indian-restaurant-comparison is one bitch of work, thanks for that by the way.’

Bucky sighs. ‘I’m sorry. But they really like your comparing stuff, because you’re so rational and a merciless critique.’

He can hear Natasha roll her eyes at the other end. ‘Yeah, whatever. So, we’ve got two out of approximately five articles covered. Any further ideas?’

‘We can skip one article. The readers won’t like it, but there’s nothing else we can do really. My own work’s piling up, the lead articles, smaller ones and I’ve got that meeting with Shield International next week I have to prepare myself for, plus the interview with that politician-guy, what’s his name again?’

‘Pierce. And he’s a senator, better not call him ‘politician-guy’, Bucky.’

‘Yeah, whatever’, Bucky mock-mimics her. The girl next to him is throwing a full-blown tantrum now, the whole park echoing with her screams.  
‘What the hell’s going on there? Where are you, Barnes?’

‘Arrived in hell, apparently.’ Bucky groans. He has to think, get this right, he’s the boss, he has to find solutions and fix things. Taking another deep breath, Bucky starts fiddling with his tie.

‘Alright. For the last article, I’ll ask Pepper. The readers really liked her last article and I did say that she may be coming back as a guest author at some point, didn’t I?’ It’s hard to keep track of all the statements he has posted on the blog, regarding all sort of things, but that’s why he’s got Natasha after all.

‘Yes, you did. Well, let’s hope she’s up for it on short notice. God knows we really can’t afford to piss her and her fiancé off, we really, really need to keep him as a sponsor, Bucky.’

‘I know that, Romanoff, I have been the boss of this blog for a while, you know? Don’t worry, her deadline will be Thursday so we can publish Friday, half a week should be fine.’

‘In other words, you will have to punch out the articles for tomorrow and Wednesday today.’ Natasha sounds slightly worried now. ‘On top of everything else you’ve got to do. Are you sure you’re going to be okay, Bucky? It’s not worth it if you work yourself into a burnout, you know? We’re still supposed to have fun with this blog.’

Now she sounds gentle and soothing and damn him, if Bucky has ever heard Natasha Romanoff talk like that to anyone but him. They go back a long time and he’s not so sure if he’d still be here without her. Probably would’ve gone insane and jumped off a bridge about ten years ago. Bucky swallows around the lump of gratefulness that’s currently settled in his throat and nods, before he remembers that she can’t see him. 

‘Yeah, I know, Tasha. Don’t worry about me, you know what I can pull when I’m in the flow. It’ll be alright. I will be alright.’

‘Good. Just remember, step by step.’ 

That’s a mentality they developed back in College, when there was a mountain of work looming over them and they didn’t know where to start. Going step by step, day by day, not thinking about all the other things that still need to be done, only the things important that very day.

‘I will. And I promise you, by the end of the week you are allowed to drag me down to your special Thai-massage-Queen for a spa day, okay?’ That gets him a delighted laugh. ‘Alright, I’ll take you up on that one. Have a good day. And remember to eat something in between, you know, the thing where you stuff food in your mouth and swallow?’

Bucky snorts again and hangs up. It’s true, sadly, that sometimes when he’s caught in the writing-flow, ideas swirling through his head and he’s technically thinking too fast for his hands to keep up writing, he forgets the time and to eat. Probably the only reason he’s in such a good shape, because he surely has zero time for working out.

The girl’s still screaming, the whole park staring by now, her mother beet-red, trying to calm her down. When her sister joins in on the bawling, Bucky flees.   
He slurps his coffee while texting Jane to get better soon and maybe send him the rough ideas she had for the articles, so he and the others doesn’t have to start from square one. It’s bad enough that they have to cover up for a branch they don’t usually write in. Each of Bucky’s employees has two specialties, relatively wide spectrums of topics they can write about. Were they one of the big magazines, they’d have one writer per branch, but since they’ve only started the business two years ago, they have to make-do with what they have. And luckily, they are all very flexible writers who can write about practically anything. Working on a foreign topic only means a lot more work and painfully accurate research. But it can’t be helped, now.

Bucky finishes his coffee and calls Pepper, who by some miracle is willing to write an article for the blog and isn’t even offended by the short deadline. She says something about being glad to work for someone else than Tony for a change and Bucky’s sure he hears Tony yell in the background offended. He thanks Pepper for probably the hundredth time and hangs up, his mind already occupied with other things. Like where he can possibly go to for working in silence. Normally, he writes at home, but driving back to his apartment takes up too much time now, time he desperately needs in the face of four articles he needs to write today. Plus the preparations for next week’s specials; but he might be able to switch those to tomorrow instead.

As he walks down the busy street, Bucky scans cafés and diners left and right, but none of them are made for proper writing. He’s good at tuning out other people, but chatter all around him is something even he can’t ignore for long; especially since it’ll be lunch time soon and all those places will bursting with people by then. No, he needs a place where it’s quiet and he’s not disturbed, so…

Bucky stops dead in his tracks, causing people around him to cuss. He absentmindedly apologizes and chides himself for being such a moron: the place he needs is, obviously, a library. There are several in New York and Bucky quickly dives for his phone to google the nearest. It’s only two blocks away, a general one as well, which is convenient. Should he need some research for Jane’s scientific articles, he’ll find them right there. On his way to the library, Bucky feels slightly giddy. It’s been ages since he last visited a library and he briefly wonders why. Quite ironically, regarding his job and the branch he’s working in, Bucky loves books and while he absolutely works with both an ipad and Laptop, he refuses to buy a kindle or even e-books. Since he’s a child, he preferred the printed versions and well, he’s happy to admit he’s a book nerd. Almost every wall in his flat except the kitchen and bathroom disappears behind ceiling-high book shelves and he still has books piling up on the floor because he’s run out of place for more shelves. 

Maybe that was what brought him to becoming a journalist after all; that explanation is way better than the one his mother happily spreads around: that it was her influence and, of course, her genes that made Bucky such an excellent writer. Well, quite frankly she’d have to find a way to explain how exactly she did that without being there at all, but leaving Bucky in the all-day-care of a nanny until he was fucking sixteen.

Shoving those thoughts away, Bucky climbs the marble stairs up to the library, stepping inside the cold of marble walls. Almost immediately, he feels himself calm down, leaving the hustle and bustle of the street and city behind. There’s a front desk with a young woman sitting there looking bored. When she catches sight of Bucky, her face lights up, though whether that’s because of the fact that he’s a costumer or his looks, the brunet can’t decide. 

‘Hello’, he greets her, stepping closer. ‘I’d like to get a library card, please.’

‘Certainly, Sir. I need your ID for that, please.’

Bucky sighs internally and hands the plastic card over. The girl’s eyes stop at his name and looks up briefly, clearly recognizing his name. Bucky braces himself for impact. He gets that every now and then, especially from people being familiar with the New York press scene. It’s almost impossible to avoid if your mother’s the current boss of the New York Times. 

To his surprise, she doesn’t ask about his mother. 

‘You’re the Winter Soldier!’, is what she blurts out instead. Bucky is taken aback for a second, before he has to smile. It’s his pseudonym on the blog, the name he posts his articles under, all of them do, for the sake of anonymity. In Bucky’s case, since he’s responsible for the whole blog, he’s in the site notice with both his alias and given name. Still, not many people make that connection – or actually read the site notice, at that.

‘I am’, he confirms quietly, ‘is that a problem?’ It’s meant as a joke, but the girl goes beet-read in an instance.

‘Oh no, not at all, Mr. Barnes. I’ll – here, you need to fill out that form sheet with your data please.’ 

She’s a little lost now, but hands him a paper that Bucky fills out quickly. It’s standard procedure and Bucky hands it back after a moment.

‘The conditions?’, he asks nonetheless. The girl blushes again and answers a bit breathily.

‘Oh, right. You’re allowed to borrow any book within our opening hours. You’ll get an automatic email two days before your loan period expires and you can expand online whenever you want.’

She tugs a strand of hair behind her ear exaggerating and Bucky internally shakes his head. That effort is definitely in vain; but he can hardly say that, so he sticks to being polite instead, pretending he didn’t notice her attempt at flirting. 

‘Alright.’ He looks around briefly. There are some desks in the far corner of the room, some stocked with computers for research, some empty for working space, along with some plush seats for reading. But there’s no way he’s going to sit over there, in the girl’s direct eye-line. If she continues the flirting, he won’t be getting any work done today.

‘Are there more working desks upstairs?’, he asks as politely as he can. The scientific section is one floor up anyway, so he has an excuse should he need one. On the other hand, just because she knows his blog doesn’t mean he owes her an explanation in the first place.

The girl’s smile falls a little and she looks disappointed. ‘Yes, there are. To the right when you leave the stairs.’

‘Thank you.’ They stand in silence until she’s finished printing and laminating his badge, handing it over.

Bucky gives her one last bright smile that brings the color back to her face momentarily, then he turns around and climbs the stairs to the next floor.   
He finds the working tables quickly and sets up his laptop, already getting into working mode. He’s got a lot to do, after all.

~*~

It’s half past five when the automated announcement rings out that reminds the visitors that the library is closing soon and only then Bucky fully lifts his head and drags his mind off the article he’s been proofreading for the last thirty minutes. It’s not exactly easy, writing an article in an area he’s not comfortable with, but he thinks this is as best as he can get it. The rough outline Jane sent him helped a lot, but in the end, it all comes down to precise and detailed research and that had cost Bucky a lot of time, but he managed somehow. Now, he has four finished articles saved on his iPad and one major headache. And, he realizes only now, he hasn’t eaten a thing since he got here before twelve. 

Sighing, Bucky lets his head fall back for a moment. Natasha would have his head if she knew. He’s absolutely beaten now, his back and ass aching slightly from sitting for so long. When he closes his eyes, he still sees endless rows of words against the black of his closed eyelids. Bucky loves his job, but at times like this, he almost wishes he’d stick to being a simple journalist employed by his mother. It’s stressful, too, but at least he’s got one to two articles a day at the most.   
But not even that brings him to regret his decision to giving up that job and starting his own business as soon as he had the chance to. Sure, it’s not getting him rich or anything, but it’s his. Something he created on his own, with the help of his closest friends and others. Not something that’s handed down to him just because he happens to be the son of one specific woman. 

His mother’s not happy about that, not happy at all. Another strong reason to do it.

Bucky packs up his things, wondering briefly if the girl on the front desk will still be there when he comes downstairs. As it turns out, she’s not. In her place behind the counter sits a man that literally takes Bucky’s breath away without warning.

He’s tall, blond and absolutely gorgeous. Broad shoulders and muscles that scream bodybuilder or military from a mile away. Bucky’s first thought is ‘What’s he doing in a library?!’. The second one is ‘Damn, he’s hot’

Bucky has a solid half minute to gather his senses. There’s not a chance he’s leaving this library without at least talking to that man. So, out of a whim, he grabs of the books on the shelf nearest to the stairs and walks over to the front desk.

‘Hey.’

Hot and blond lifts his head and stands up, nodding once. ‘Good evening, Sir. You’ve got something to borrow?’

Bucky pulls out his most charming smile, placing the book in question on the counter. The man reaches for it and cocks an eyebrow, shooting Bucky another glance. The brunet looks down on the book as well and feels his face heat up: Lily and her adventures on the Little Star-Pony Ranch stares back at him from a paperback that’s so pink and glittery Bucky’s eyes start to hurt.

‘Ahm – that’s for my niece’, he feels obliged to explain his choice of book. The man – Steve, his nametag reads – nods again and scans the book, waiting for the receipt to be printed. Bucky frowns a little. Usually, his trademark smile does never, repeat that, never fails its effect on people, whether Bucky actually wants that or not. 

This time, however, there’s no visible reaction from the man behind the counter. Bucky smiles again as Steve hands him his receipt, but again no reaction at all.   
‘I wish you a good evening, Sir’, is the only thing he gets, stated in a polite and reserved voice. 

‘You too.’ Bucky is too baffled to think of something more original to respond. There's a long moment of silence between them where the man on the other side of the counter looks at him questioningly, then Bucky comes to his senses. He grabs the book and flees.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Bucky has a not quiet normal day at the office and we meet someone Bucky wishes he didn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this fic is not betad; English is not my first language, so it's possible there are many mistakes. I'm very sorry for that, I have yet to find a beta for my stories in the Marvel Universe. This is still my first pic posted in the MCU, so, please, feel free to tell me what you think.

When Bucky arrives at his flat half an hour later, he’s more than a little annoyed with himself. Normally, he has a ready tongue, always coming up with a sharp or funny reply; it’s part of the charm he’s told he has, a feature he’s used often in the past to gain favors. Until he found out he’s inherited that from his mother. If Bucky hates anything on this good earth, it’s being compared to that woman. So he scaled the charm down to a minimum. After all, he himself didn’t see much of that charm his mother’s supposed to have. And he most certainly doesn’t want people to think he’s the same hypocrite: all smiles and friendliness in public, cold and not-caring in real life. Still, whenever Bucky decides to pull out his most charming smile, it usually works wonders. Except today. Bucky still can’t believe it when he takes the frozen pizza out of his oven. 

Well, maybe he did look too stressed or worn out. He had a hard day, after all. Still. During dinner, the brunet can’t wrap his head around the fact that a man like that actually works in a library. From his physical state alone, Bucky’d said he’s military or a bodybuilder or something similar. And even if not, that man has the looks of a model, not a librarian! The topic haunts Bucky until he goes to bed later that evening, although he has no idea why exactly. 

The next morning, he checks in at the office at half past eight, just as he always does. He plans on going back to that library in the afternoon though. After all, he can work better there and he in general never works in the office. It’s quiet, except for Clint who’s sitting at the double-desk he shares with Natasha, nursing a cup of coffee and getting lost on memecenter.   
“I thought I’m paying you to actually work”, Bucky says, leaning over Clint’s shoulder. The other man nearly has a heart-attack and spits out his coffee. 

“Holy shit, Barnes, don’t fucking do that! It’s nighttime, you can’t scare me like that.”

Bucky grins and tosses him a few paper napkins so he can mop up the coffee on his Nirvana-Shirt. 

“Not my problem you’ve got your hearing aids turned down.” He moves over to the coffee pod to get his own cup, feeling Clint giving him the finger behind his back. 

“And I saw that, Barton! Better remember I’m your boss here.” He pours the fresh, hot liquid into the _I’m the boss. I don’t have stress, I give it. That’s my job and I’m damn good at it_ -cup Natasha gave him for Christmas last year. 

“And I know you just rolled your eyes at me. Why don’t you just get on starting with some actual work?”

When he turns around with a satisfied grin, Barton’s gaping at him. 

“You’re a fucking psychic, man, I mean it. You had your back to me, how the hell do you do that!?” Bucky wiggles the fingers of his left hand at him. 

“Didn’t you know? They didn’t just replace my arm but my brain as well. I’m a mind reader now.” 

Usually, he’s self-conscious about the metal prosthetics that replace his left arm and that’s one of the reasons he almost always wears gloves, even in summer. Making jokes about it is a sign he’s surrounded by people he trusts and, even more, likes. In this office, it’s only him and his friends and they don’t hide anything from one another. Before Clint can come up with a response, the door opens and Natasha rushes in, a To-Go-coffee in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other. She looks more than a little ruffled, some strands of red hair sticking out her normally neatly made bun. Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Someone had a late start this morning, hm? Aren’t you normally here before me and Mr. Lazy-Ass over there?” Both his employees shoot him looks as Natasha rushes to her working place, firing up the computer. 

“Sorry, public transport was a bitch. Plus I did go to bed rather late last night.” 

It’s stated in that casual and dismissing voice that tells Bucky not to ask further questions, so he doesn’t. Natasha respects him as her boss and friend, deeply so, but she doesn’t like people interfering with her personal life. Given the sheer amount of time she spends at this office thought, Bucky seriously doubts she has any private life. They all haven’t, quite frankly. 

Barnes recoils too, giving Natasha an almost frightened look and goes back to memecenter. Bucky finishes his coffee and walks over to them again. 

“Briefing in twenty minutes?”

It’s stated as a question, but none of them will argue. It’s their routine every morning, after all. Talking about yesterday’s articles and the reader’s reactions plus talking through the articles that are planned today. After that, Bucky normally leaves the office if there aren’t any things that need his personal attention. He hates working in such a small space as it rather painfully reminds him of his time as an active journalist. The busy atmosphere of multi-desk-offices makes him antsy and nervous, always has. His team knows that and doesn’t comment. He’s not, after all, leaving to laze about for the rest of the day, but to write in more relaxing atmospheres. Like his flat or, since yesterday, a certain library.   
Bucky shuts the door to the little room separated from the others that’s his office, trying not to think about said library and one specific librarian too much. He doesn’t exactly concede.

~°~

“So, we’re clear on today’s work. Anything else?” Bucky leans back in his chair, looking at Clint and Natasha expectantly, the only ones in the meeting at the moment since Jane’s still sick and Pepper Pott’s not a regular employee of his. Clint nods. 

“There was an email to the website by someone called Dr. Bruce Banner. He’s some kind of doctor and he wants to know if we’re looking for someone writing scientific health articles?” Clint looks from Bucky to Natasha questioningly. Bucky frowns. 

”Well, strictly speaking we aren’t, but a new section doesn’t hurt. Depends on what he’s writing about. Technically, we have science and research covered by Jane; but if he does lifestyle like yoga, health care, good diet and stuff, why not? Give me his email, I’m going to contact him to further elaborate.”

Clint nods and Natasha perks up. 

“Speaking of new sections: Darcy asked for an appointment with you, concerning the celeb-gossip-section she wants to open.” Clint rolls his eyes and Bucky grimaces lightly. He’s not too sure about this, but to his surprise, Natasha starts backing Darcy up. 

“Actually, I think it’s a good idea. I know we want The Avengers to be a professional, serious blog. But if we’re realistic, people always like to read gossip. Look at the waiting room of every doctor you’ve been to: full with respectable businessmen and –women who, of course, never indulge in such things; and they all secretly read the _Sun_ and gush about Angelina Jolie’s new haircut or whatever.” 

“Well, thinking of Angelina Jolie I’m not thinking of her haircut”, Clints buffs in, smirking. Bucky rolls his eyes at him and Natasha glares. 

“What I want to say”, she continues pointedly, “is that gossip is a guilty pleasure. Why not indulge it? Sure, we might lose a few readers, but that’s why you can chose what you want to read and what not on the website. People who aren’t into that simply don’t have to click on the articles. And who knows, we might attract some young readers as well.”

She shrugs and watches Bucky, waiting for a reaction. He thinks it through; she’s not wrong. It might give them new readers and well, when they first started thinking about _The Avengers_ , they didn’t want it to be some boring dull newspaper anyway, but something zappy and young, like they themselves are. 

“You’re right. Let me see what ideas Darcy has and how we could pull that off. In all honesty, I doubt there’s another person on this planet as capable of writing gossip like Darcy.” Bucky glances towards the clock on his desk. 

“If you say she wants to meet me today, when exactly…?” He hopes it’s before lunch so he can leave afterwards, but he’s disappointed. 

“She’s got some work with the advertisements she needs to finish this morning, so she asked for an appointment in the afternoon. I gave her the first one after lunch break, though. Sorry, Buck.” Natasha winces. She knows he doesn’t like working here, but well, it can’t be helped now. 

“Not your fault, Tasha. It’s going to be okay”, Bucky reassures her and ushers her and Clint out to go back to work.

It is okay, in the end. He’s not as productive as he was yesterday, constantly pulled out of his concentration by phones ringing outside or Clint and Natasha talking to each other. He needs silence to work efficiently and if he gets silence, Bucky can totally pull five or six articles a day if they are in the branch he’s mostly working in. But he can’t change the situation, so he makes the best of it. Another plus about working at the office is that he actually does eat from time to time. Or rather, he gets force fed by his employees. Clint brings him coffee and a cinnamon roll at break time and when he goes to the loo shortly before lunch break, Natasha asks if he’s okay with ordering Italian. Clint innocently suggests Indian and she nearly throws her phone at him because, “Goddamn Barton, you _know_ I’m eating nothing but Indian for two weeks now for the damn restaurant-critique!”. 

Sitting together with boxes of pasta and pizza feels nice and relaxing, almost like the old days, when they were all living together through college. Only now their meal-time doesn’t turn into a food fight, for which Bucky is immensely grateful because that’s his favorite tie and he really doesn’t want to spend the evening washing tomato sauce stains out of it. Darcy arrives right when they finish eating and Bucky leaves Clint and Natasha to deal with the leftovers and empty cartons while he shows her to his office. It’s a bit of an exaggeration, really, calling the room his ‘office’ and in all honesty, Bucky didn’t want it from the start. But his employees convinced him that to appear serious, their business needs a boss-office. So here he is.

The meeting goes smooth all in all, Darcy enthusiastically presenting her ideas on the gossip page. Admittedly, they are really good and well thought-through. Sure, there are some minor changes they might have to discuss, but they’ll get there. The more he listens to his employee, the more Bucky approves of the idea in general; Natasha is right (as she is mostly), this could give their blog a major boost in both popularity and subscriber-numbers. He’s discussing rules with Darcy about what to write and what not, keeping a certain standard in the articles, when suddenly there’s a bit of a riot starting in the main area of the _Avenger’s_ office, just outside Bucky’s door. 

What starts like an argument quickly increases in volume until Bucky can make out Natasha’s voice: “He’s in the middle of a meeting, you can’t just go in there!” She sounds put out and that alone sounds alarm bells in Bucky’s head. And he’s right about it. A moment later, the firmly shut door to his office opens and there, in the doorway, stands his mother, Natasha behind her as if to bodily try to stop her from entering. Bucky feels himself tense up within a millisecond and sets his jaw as he looks past Darcy towards the person who gave birth to him.

Winifred Barnes is, as always, dressed down to perfection in the smallest of details. Her three-part-costume is suave and neat, perfectly fitting with not even the smallest of wrinkles or dust specks. It’s Prada or Gucci or something else posh, making Bucky’s eyes hurt. The color of her shoes is carefully coordinated to her nail polish and her hair is pinned up in a complicated style she no way did herself. Darcy turns on her chair as well, looking back at her, mouth falling open as it dawns on her who this woman is. Her relation to Bucky is evident: they have the same face and dark brown hair, although Bucky’s 100% sure hers is dyed - there’s no way it’s still her natural color given the fact that she has a son in his thirties. 

Mrs. Barnes strides forward like a lioness, completely ignoring Natasha behind her; she’s got her blackberry out like always, typing something away. Buck can’t recall a single moment in all his life when his mother didn’t have that thing glued to her hands. Birthday parties, family meetings, breakfast, dinner, very rare goodnight kisses – Winifred always had her phone with her, constantly working. When he was five, Bucky once asked his nanny if his Momma loved her job more than him; today he knows she does. 

“I need to speak with you, James. Now.” 

She doesn’t even look up saying that and her tone is so disinterested and bored Bucky grits his teeth. And she calls him James, every fucking time! He takes a deep breath, jaw clenching in anger, as he tries to keep control. 

“I’m in the middle of a meeting, _Winifred_.” 

He uses her first name on purpose, knows how much it riles her up; two can play this game. His mother does look up briefly at that, zoning in on Darcy who’s still sitting there obviously star-struck – and oh, how Bucky hates that, people getting all wide-eyed and awestruck when meeting his mother like she’s the most smart and noble person on this planet which she isn’t. She takes in the young woman in one quick glance, her lips curling upwards slightly in that way they do when she’s found someone new to torture and Bucky really wishes Darcy wouldn’t wear that blouse with the very _generous_ décolleté because, oh, he definitely knows what’s to come.

“You can continue staring at her breasts later. Right now, I’ve got _important_ things to talk to you about.”

Darcy’s mouth falls open and Bucky grips the edges of his desk a little tighter. Over his mother’s shoulder he sees Natasha chewing on her own tongue to not say something and Clint rubbing a hand down his face. Unfortunately, his friends are very much used to his mother’s behavior and they can deal with it if they have to – Darcy however has never met the woman before and well, there’s that. The look on the young woman’s face is changing from outraged to hurt to puzzled within seconds and she opens and closes her mouth, clearly lost for words. Eventually, there will be words dawning on her however and knowing Darcy, it’s going to get ugly. She’s as sharp as a whip and she absolutely doesn’t take shit like that easily. Normally, Bucky doesn’t mind, he encourages it even – but not when it comes to his mother. Because it’s enough she’s his archenemy, his friends doesn’t need that as well. So he steps in before anything escalates.

“Darcy, would you please excuse us? I really, really like your ideas and we’re definitely going to work something out together, okay? I’ll discuss some things with Nat, but I promise you’ll have the ‘Go ahead’ by the end of the week.” 

He manages a smile and thankfully, Darcy doesn’t say anything more, just stands up and leaves, throwing Mrs. Barnes a withering glare that bounces off her like a ball from a wall. Before the door closes behind her, Bucky sees Natasha and Clint already swooping in, hopefully trying to minimize the damage his mother has done. Then, the two of them are alone.

“Charming as ever, mother”, Bucky comments, facing her unwillingly. She’s fiddling with her blackberry again and waves her hand dismissingly. 

“Whatever. Don’t worry, I won’t take long, James. In contrast to you I actually do have important work that needs to be done.” Bucky grits his teeth again. 

“So have I.” That gets him a disbelieving snort. 

“I highly doubt that. I mean”, Winifred looks up, taking in the small work space her son has, something akin disgust on her face, “what even is this place? You call that an office? Call those naïve amateurs your employees? You can do better than that sodden blog you’re wasting your time with and you know it, James.” Bucky closes his eyes. 

“I won’t discuss this topic with you”, he says with barely concealed anger, “you know my opinion, I know yours, so let’s just skip this part. Why are you here? And please do say ‘To see my son’, I haven’t had a good laugh all day and I could really need one.” 

He can be snarky, too, if he wants. He’s not her son for nothing. Winifred glares at him and actually puts her blackberry into her purse; it won’ stay there for longer than two minutes. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know a lost case when I see one.” 

Although it’s not the first time she’s said something along those lines to Bucky, oddly enough it does sting all the same. He’s used to it, or should be used to it anyway. But in some ways, a parent always stays a parent, however much you wish they wouldn’t. 

Bucky swallows down the lump of anger and hurt in his throat and raises his eyebrows, looking at his mother questioningly. 

“You were about to tell me why you’re currently wasting my time, so please, enlighten me.” Winifred studies him for a moment, then shakes her head. 

“I wanted to make sure you’ll be there for your sister’s birthday party. She has to make plans with the caterer and this involves knowing how many people will actually show up.” Bucky blinks at her. Once, twice. 

“That’s in two weeks.” Another snort. 

“Yes, well, _some of us_ think a little more in advance than two days ahead, James.” 

“And _some of us_ already spoke to Becca, telling her my plans for her birthday party”, Bucky fires back. Winifred rounds his table and, after taking a piqued look at it, sits in his chair. 

“Oh, by all means, make yourself comfortable”, Bucky snorts, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “it’s not like you’re going to leave this office any minute.”

“You’re behaving childish, James. Also, I’ll leave when I’m finished.” Bucky exhales slowly to stop himself from strangling her. 

“Yes, you always do what you want. So, since Becca clearly didn’t send you here to ask me about her party – and really, you couldn’t find a lamer excuse? – could we maybe move on to the part where you _actually_ tell me why you’re here so I can decline it and go on with my day?”

Winifred Barnes sits forward, her glare not impressing her son in the slightest. They’ve fought so many times, discussed for hours on end, Bucky’s not afraid of her anymore. Also, he doesn’t feel respect or admiration or love for her; he stopped that years ago. 

“I want you to come back.” Oh Jesus Murphy!, Bucky thinks, rolling his eyes. Not that again. 

“So, is this the 'I miss my son, please come back to me, I’ve been a horrible mother, but I can change' talk? Because if it is, save your breath”, he spats, “because every darn word is a lie. And I’m not falling for your false promises anymore, I stopped that when I outgrew my teenage phase.” 

The look his mother gives him feigns hurt and disappointment, but Bucky knows better. There might have been days when he actually fell for that, moved back in the big mansion in Hamptons, but he’s been moving out within the next two weeks at the latest. He’s past that. These days, the less contact he has with the woman he can’t connect with the phrase ‘mother’, the better.

And he’s right, because the hurt expression falls flat the moment he’s finished his sentence. Now, Winifred looks at him with something he can’t identify: Rage? Hate? Disgust? He doesn’t want to know, actually. 

“I meant the newspaper. One of my head editor’s retiring and I’m willing to generously overlook your behavior towards me those past years and give you his position. You’ll have a solid job, do actual useful work and if you can control that mouth of yours and finally adapt to who you are, you’ve got a good chance to be in the upper circle within a year or two. I’m still hoping you’re going to be the one to take my place once I retire – if you actually get your shit together first.” 

Bucky laughs. Laughs without humor, right in her face. This is ridiculous. Apparently, his mother thinks so too. 

“Stop it, James”, she demands, voice rising in annoyance. “I can’t believe your inability to take anything serious! You’re throwing away a life-changing opportunity! You could be set for life, you’ll never have to worry about anything anymore and that at your age. When will you finally come to your senses?” 

Bucky only laughs harder, tears springing to his eyes now. This really is the hearty laugh he’s been waiting for the whole day. 

“You actually think you can buy me like one of your goons or sponsors? By giving me such a ‘generous’ opportunity?” 

“James Buchanan Barnes”, his mother shouts, “you stop that nonsense right now!” It’s more out of instinct than respect for her that Bucky actually quietens his laughter to chuckles. His mother stands up again, throwing her hands in the air. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. I don’t recognize my own son.” Bucky snorts out another, bitter laugh. 

“That might be because you don’t know your son in the first place.” 

The fact that earlier, she accused him of only talking to Darcy so he could stare at her décolleté, proves this entirely. If his mother actually knew him and cared for who he is, she’d know that he’s not interested in Darcy’s breasts in the slightest, as he’s not interested in any part of her body. The only one in this office he might have an interest in is Clint and that thought is even more ridiculous, because Bucky’s known Clint since they’re kids and while he has to admit his friend is easy on the eye, the thought of kissing or touching him is just weird. There’s another moment of silence while the two Barnes stare at each other almost hatefully, then Winifred speaks again. 

“Is this because of those people?” 

She stabs a finger at the closed door, indicating Clint, Natasha and Darcy sitting on the other side, no doubt able to hear at least half or their current conversation. Bucky’s face darkens with every word she’s says. 

“Did they turn you into this? A spoiled little boy who doesn’t know what’s good for him, thinking he can do the whole self-discovery trip without any responsibilities?”

“Stop it”, Bucky barks, taking a step forward. “You don’t get to speak about my friends like that. They were there for me, all those years!” 

Now, his voice is getting louder, too. 

“They helped me, listened to my problems when all you were interested in was your blasted newspaper! Don’t you dare say another word about them, because they’re way better people like you’ll ever be!” He stops, breathing heavily. “I do have responsibilities and I’m not on a self-discovery trip! This is my life now and believe it or not, for once I’m happy. I’m happier than I have ever been around you, so don’t fucking dare to try to dictate my life!” 

This is spiraling out of control rapidly. Bucky’s breath comes in angry little puffs and he knows he has to put a stop to the whole thing right now. 

“This conversation is over”, he says flatly, walking towards the door. “I want you to leave my office right now. Thank you for you “generous” offer, but I have to decline it. I already have a job. Now leave, please.” 

He’s shaking with barely concealed anger now and he’s not sure if he can hold himself back should his mother not leave. But thankfully, Winifred complies. Not without shooting him another look like she’s got a bad taste in her nose. 

“You’re an idiot, James.” 

Bucky pretends he didn’t hear that in favor of throwing the door to his office open with so much force it bounces back from the wall. Outside, Natasha’s already sprung up and Clint’s halfway out of his seat, while Darcy sits curled up in a chair, staring in his direction with wide eyes. He’s positive he looks frightening right now, but he doesn’t care in the slightest. 

“This is not finished”, his mother threatens, as she stalks past him. “You’re going to regret treating me like this, I promise, son. You seem to have forgotten who I am. And mark my words, you’re going to beg me for that job in a few weeks.”

With that, she marches out of the office, every ounce the steely woman she is. Bucky stares at her retreating back, still breathing heavily and although he knows he did the right thing, he can’t help the uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach at his mother’s words. She can make his life a horror-show in so many ways and Bucky’s one hundred percent sure that she will.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tide is turning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for the delay, but to be honest, I wasn't so sure if anyone was interested in this being continued after all :) Since there were quite a few nice comments recently, I decided to give it a go again. This is my first story in the MCU, since normally I'm more on the 'Hobbit'-RPF-playground, so please be gentle. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter

Ten minutes after his mother has left, Bucky sits at his desk, slumped forward, head in his hands. There’s a headache coming, he can practically taste it. Rubbing at his temple doesn’t help much and neither does the attempt to distract himself. There’s a hundred horror scenarios playing in his mind of what his mother meant by her last words. Bucky is sure she meant it, oh yeah. He knows his mother best of all people and he knows of what she’s capable of. He’s seen her climbing the career ladder steady and unyielding. Has seen her sacrificing friends, good people on the way up. Seen her destroy careers and existences in the blink of an eye to get where she is now. There’s only one person that’s import to Winifred Barnes: herself. 

Outside his office, he can hear voices, Clint and Natasha, probably debating on what to do. After Winifred stepped into the elevator, Bucky had all but thrown his door shut again, a non-verbal sign that he doesn’t want to be disturbed. He’s trying to get a grip again, but judging from the nauseous feeling settling in his gut, he’s doing a poor job.  
The knock on his door is gentle, but firm. He doesn’t answer, but the door opens nevertheless and Natasha steps in. Closes the door behind her and walks right up to his desk, resolute and certain.

“Drink.”

She places a glass in front of him and when Bucky lifts his head from his arms, the sharp smell of Wodka hits his nostrils. 

“No drinking during working hours, Natasha”, he repeats the policy automatically. The red-head rolls her eyes at him.

“This is an emergency. Besides, you’re the boss, Barnes, if you can’t bend the rules now and then, nobody can.”

Bucky eyes the glass suspiciously. “Gorbatchow?”

“Fenrir. Do I look like I can afford the big stuff? Now drink up.”

Her tone is final, but gentle. To anyone who doesn’t know her, she might seem angry, but Bucky knows she’s concerned. Natasha is good at hiding her true feelings, so good that when she does show them, they’re not always clear.

Against his better judgment, Bucky takes up the glass and throws it back. The strong liquor burns down his throat, but it also takes away some of the haze that’s clouding his head. Taking a deep breath, Bucky leans back in his chair.

“Thanks. That helped.” 

“Don’t sound so surprised, it always does. That’s why I brought it, dummy.”

Unprompted, his assistant takes a seat in front of his desk.

“Wanna talk about it?” Her voice is gentle and soothing now, the kind of tone Bucky’s sure he’s one of the only few persons to hear from her.

He shakes his head, then immediately nods. He doesn’t know. Sighing, he lets his head fall back.

“Same old, same old. She complained, threatened, insulted me, threatened some more. Oh, she did offer me a job at the newspaper.”

Natasha raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Really? Did you take it?”

Bucky snorts and shoots her a look. “Like hell I did. I’m never going back there, not if she and I are the only living persons left on this bloody earth.”

He exhales and closes his eyes again. The adrenaline that was pumping through his body throughout the fight with his mother leaves him in a rush. Now he just feels tired and worn-out. 

“There are reasons I quit working as a general journalist”, he reminds Natasha quietly. “No matter where I worked, everyone only saw me as my mother’s son. All that responsibility, the expectations; even the respect I got, all that was just because I’m a Barnes, not because I’m myself.”

His voice is getting higher and he’s talking faster without noticing it. 

“That’s why I founded this blog, to finally have something for my own, something I created, not something I got shoved up my ass just because I happen to be that woman’s offspring. I can’t live up to that inheritance and I don’t want to, it’s just…too much.”

There’s a hand on his, warm fingers brushing against his and only then Bucky realizes Natasha has moved right next to him, holding his hand. 

“Shh. I know, Bucky, I know. Take a deep breath, okay?” Bucky does as he’s prompted and immediately, the tension that crept back into his shoulders drains again. A few more deep breaths later, he squeezes Natasha’s hand lightly in thanks.

She lets go and moves back in front of his desk.

“Better? Want another drink?”

The offer is tempting, but Bucky shakes his head. “No, thank you. Just got carried away for a bit.” 

His assistant nods. “Understandable. She really is – a handful.” 

Bucky makes a noise between a laugh and a snort. “That’s awfully polite, Tasha, and you know it.” 

Sighing, he shakes his head. “Is there anything I need to be here for? I kinda – need a breather.”

Natasha smiles. “That’s why I came in, too. No other appointments on your plate today, just the article about Senator Pierce that’s coming out prior to your interview and the small thing about the anniversary of the 110th American military intervention of the Dominican Republic, but both of that are not due to Thursday. How about you lay low today? And get some real food into you for a change? Don’t think I don’t know you’ve skipped lunch again yesterday!”

Bucky ducks his head a little in defeat, a small smile playing around his mouth. 

“And they say I’m the mind reader around here.” 

His assistant snorts. “ _Clint_ says you’re a mind reader, but darling, you and I both know that I’m the better of the two of us.”

“You’re right. You’re the absolute best, Tasha.”

Bucky reaches up to kiss her cheek lightly and the red-head swats her hands at him. 

“Aww, stop doing that, you big softie. Now go on, get outta here before something else pops up that needs your immediate attention.”

~+~  
Twenty minutes later, Bucky reaches his destination: the library he went to the day before. It’s a little after three, so he’s got at least another two hours to spend time there. The wodka is burning in his empty stomach, so he treats himself to a cold turkey-sandwich from the bakery opposite the library and enters the building afterwards. The first thing he spots is the big, blond guy that caught his eye yesterday, sitting at the front desk. Biting his lip, Bucky debates if he should go and talk to him, but since he can’t think of any conversation opener that’s not screaming ‘I just wanted to chat you up’, he opts for taking a seat at one of the desks on the same floor. 

He’s too tired and riled up for one of the articles Natasha mentioned earlier, so Bucky pulls out his tablet, glad to find that Darcy already emailed him her ideas for the gossip section. Sorting through them doesn’t take up much energy and it doesn’t turn his brain into knots. By the time 5.30, the library’s closing time, rolls along, Bucky has worked out a concept he’s pretty sure will work well with the rest of the blog and he emails it to Natasha for confirmation. He leans back in his chair, soaking in the library’s noises: scattered people slowly wandering the padded floors of the corridors, the sound of books being pulled out of shelves and opened, rustling of papers while the reader decides if it’s the right book or not. It’s balsam on his nerves and once again, Bucky can’t believe why it took him this long to find his way back to one of the places he was most productive in during his college time. 

“Mr. Rogers?”

The voice comes from the front desk, quiet and discreet as to not disturb the other visitors. Involuntarily, Bucky turns his head that way, listening in on the conversation. Well, there’s so few noises in the room it’s actually hard to not listen in. 

“Yes, Mr. Erskine?”

That’s definitely blond guy’s voice and Bucky feels a tiny shiver work its way down his spine, hearing that deep yet melodic voice again. Yesterday, he didn’t pay much attention to the man’s voice, he was too embarrassed by his choice of book to work as an alibi.

“Mrs. Carter wants me to ask you if you’d be able to swap shifts with her. Her husband got transferred once more and has the morning’s shifts now, so she’ll only be able to work in the afternoon or else little Sharon will be all alone throughout the morning. Would it be terribly inconvenient for you to work with Miss Quinn from 9 to 2?”

There’s a slight moment of hesitation and Bucky opens one of his eyes a little to glance over at the front desk. Steve – Mr. Rogers – seems to have sunk in on himself a little and he doesn’t look happy about that development at all. But nevertheless, he smiles politely at the smaller, older man in front of him. 

“Of course, Sir. That won’t be a problem at all.”

When Bucky leaves the library shortly after, it’s with a real smile for the first time that day. From now on, at least he knows the timeframe he needs to frequent the library again. 

~+~

At least his mood is better when Bucky leaves his flat the next morning, a thermos full of self-made coffee with him. During the evening and the night, there weren’t any more disturbances and therefore, he slept relatively well. Now, to a new day of working. 

The library is, as expected, quite empty at this time of the day, only a few mothers with their kids strolling thought the aisles, reminding them to be quiet every few minutes. After a quick check, Bucky realizes Steve – Mr. Rogers, that is – must be working upstairs and he scans the different levels until he finds the right one; trying his best to not feel like a crazy stalker. But he’s intrigued by the other man, and not only by his gorgeous body and the more than handsome face. Bucky is a storyteller and therefore, he’s naturally curious and wants to get to the bottom of things – no pun intended. This includes the story behind Steve, because really, the guy fits better in a gym or a boxing ring than in a library. He’s spiked Bucky’s natural curiosity.

The blogger chooses a desk that’s within hearing reach of the front desk where Steve’s busy typing away on his computer, but not too close as to draw any attention. He doesn’t want to creep the other man out, by all means. And while Steve and his background story might be the icing on the cake, Bucky’s fully aware that the main reason he’s here is to work. And there’s quite a few articles waiting to be written, starting with the one about Senator Pierce, introducing the man to the Avengers’ readers before Bucky meets him for an interview next week. It’s a rare thing, getting politicians on board with interviews for a blog instead of big magazines and Bucky wants to be prepared. 

Despite that, he starts with the article about the war intervention anniversary in the Dominican Republic. Quite by chance, he’s on the history level and well, that’s a coincidence that’s not to be ignored. Bucky starts his research by pulling out everything about the Dominican Republic, books about general American war interventions, and American history 1900-1920. From there, he will proceed onwards, narrowing down information until he has an article. He loves this part of his work, polishing sentences and shaping words until he has a fascinating and entertaining article about a topic many people will regard as boring. History is Bucky’s expertise for a reason, after all.

A few hours later, Bucky’s satisfied with the outcome of the war intervention article and he gets up to stretch his limps and to put back the books he pulled out of the shelves. A quick glance towards the desk up front tells him that Steve is busy sorting unpacking and sorting out books, new publications that arrived that day, apparently. He’s just about to start with the books piling up in his arms when suddenly, someone appears by his elbow. Bucky only just suppresses the flinch and automatic reaction to grab the person and throw them to the ground in self-defense. It’s the young lady that got him his library card the first time he was here. 

She sends him a bright smile and Bucky smiles back a little awkwardly. “Hi, Sir”, she says in that strange kind of half-whisper people always use in a library that’s actually louder than talking normally. “Can I help you with these?” She points to the books in Bucky’s arms and the way her eyes linger on his forearms and his chest tells him that nope, she’s not being this friendly with every library-user. 

Internally, Bucky groans, but on the outside, he remains polite. It’s not her fault and sadly, it’s not the first time either. The problem is that Bucky still has to figure out a gentle and polite way to tell a woman that he’s not interested whatsoever. A boyfriend would be really good to prove that point, but, yeah, that option is not exactly available right now. It’s hard to keep a relationship alive with his insane working hours and commitment to his blog. But who knows…

There’s a loud crash somewhere near them, followed by a mother scolding her child for dropping a pile of books, but Bucky doesn’t even register anything of that. His gaze snaps over to the front desk where Steve has gone white as a sheet all of the sudden and started shaking violently as soon as the noise rang out in the room’s silence.  
Even across the distance between them, Bucky sees the expression on Mr. Rogers’ face: haunted, scared, resigned. 

“He’s always like that”, the young woman says next to Bucky, having followed his eyeline. She sounds pitying and a little arrogant and that’s enough to snap Bucky out of his stupor. 

“He’s a war veteran, I think he’s got a very good reason to be like that, Miss”, he says dismissingly and shoves the remaining books in her arms. Ignoring her perplex stare, Bucky sets his jaw in determination and walks towards the blond man who’s currently gripping the desk in front of him so hard his knuckles turn white. Bucky sighs. He knows these signs, knows them oh so well, from own experience. One thing's very certain: Mr. Rogers needs someone to snap him out of whatever awful place he’s at this moment. And Bucky has no problem whatsoever to help with that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve goes to a bad place and has some unexpected help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm both sorry for the long wait AND the shortness of this chapter. 
> 
> I just didn't want to leave you guys waiting longer than you already did, so this one is a bit short. 
> 
> Since I found my way back into the story, there will be more to come, don't you worry :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are as always highly appreciated - also, they make my muse squee ;)

_He opens his eyes but doesn’t see the counter or the books or his clients. He sees sand and dust, rubble and puny dried bushes. His ears are not filled with the blessed quiet that’s usually the soundtrack of his work day, but with harsh wind and loud voices trying to overpower it. Cracking jokes, one second. Screaming in horror the next. Dugan is up front and he’s the first to detect the ambush. He’s got the loudest voice out of the lot of them, thank God._

_But there’s hardly time to react._

_The time his brain needs to catch up on the meaning of the shouted words feels like hours. In reality, it’s probably only two seconds, but still, it’s not enough._

_The grenade hits the second man in line, Dernier, straight in the chest. A deafening crash and the air is filled with bloody dust, parts of his comrade sprayed on the front of his vest. For another long moment Steve just stares at the blotch of red in the sand just two meters away, where the other soldier had been mere seconds ago._

_His friend._

_The frantic shouts of the others finally wrench him out of his shock and he throw himself to the side as hard as he can, propelling his body off the road and behind the stone wall of the ruins they had made their camp in. He has no idea where the others are. Clings to his rifle. Gunfire and screams make his ears ring, rattling his chest._

_Then, suddenly, there’s silence._

_A strange cracking noise comes from somewhere behind him. He tries to ignore it, shakes his head against the ringing in his ears. He carefully peeks around the corner of the wall he’s hiding behind. Just in time to see the next grenade fly right towards him. It crashes into the wall the same moment he’s taking cover again. It’s quiet again, for a long moment. As if the world has stopped spinning._

_Then the wall behind him collapses like a house of cards, burying him beneath it._

~*~

There are other people coming closer now, the young woman Bucky just thrust his books at, and a few other visitors. The brunet doesn’t notice them at first, he’s so focused on the man behind the counter. Mr. Rogers (Steve?) is on the floor now, backed up against the file cabinet. He’s shivering violently, face white as milk. His eyes are wide open in fear, pupils dilated, but apparently not seeing any of his surroundings. Whatever place he is right now, it’s not a happy one.

Bucky takes a deep breath and slowly edges closer, rounding the counter.

“Hey.” He catches sight of the man’s nametag. “Hey, Steve. Can you hear me? Everything’s fine, pal.”

He winces a little at that. Of fucking course nothing’s fine for Steve at the moment, but what is he supposed to say? Heart racing, Bucky desperately digs around in his memory for the coping mechanisms his therapist told him. Steady voice, right. A quiet place away from people and noises, if possible. Something to focus on.

Bucky slowly crouches down so he’s on Steve’s eyelevel, sitting on the worn carpet. Getting his favorite pair of jeans dusty, no doubt, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that Steve needs help. He has to find his way back from the dark place he’s in right now.

Being up close, Bucky realizes the other man’s breath is coming in short gasps and wheezes, like he’s got problems forcing enough oxygen down his throat. Bucky’s not stupid enough to try and touch the guy. Instead, he keeps a distance and just talks, a steady flow of low murmur, trying to give the other man something to ground him. 

~°~

_He can’t move. Every part of his body aches from the unbelievable pressure on his chest, his legs, his head. Is he dead already? He opens his eyes but sees only darkness. The only indication that he is not dead is the pain coursing through his body like lava. The stickiness on his face. He tries to lift a hand to get the liquid out of his eyes, but he can’t move any part of his body. He tries to scream, shout for help, but the only thing coming out of his mouth is a raspy gasp._

_He panics._

_He’s revisited this place so many times he knows every little detail. The shifting of rubble on top of him. Grounding down even more. The howling of the wind around him. Sand beneath his fingers and insects crawling over the back of his hand. But something’s different, this time. Frowning, he tries to pinpoint what. It takes him a few moments, head swimming with pain and the lack of oxygen, but then it clicks: there’s a voice. Someone’s talking._

_He frowns. That’s not right! No one survived but him, there shouldn’t be anyone around. He’s all alone in the desert, buried under piles and piles of rocks. Night will come and he would be shivering with the cold if his body could move at all. Almost a day will go by until he’ll be found, until they’ll dig him up._

Yet the voice continues to talk. He strains his ears to try and understand what it’s saying. It’s a nice voice. Soothing and calm. It also sounds vaguely familiar.

“That’s it pal, you listen to me, just listen, got nothin’ else to do but to listen to me. You’re save, Steve, you’re good. Whatever you’re seeing right now is not real. You’re in New York, you’re in the library, at your job. No one’s going to hurt you.”

He frowns again. How can he be in New York? He’s in the middle of a fucking desert in Afghanistan, not in New York! He wants to tell the voice as much, but something stirs in the back of his head –  
There’s a noise to his right suddenly, a clang that definitely doesn’t belong under a collapsed wall in a desert. 

He flinches – why can he suddenly move again? - and opens his eyes.

~*~

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief when blue eyes focus again, even as he turns around to glower at the young librarian who placed his books on the counter loudly just a moment ago.

“Would you mind giving him some space?”, he demands a little sharply, looking past her to the other patrons who stand around gawking. “There’s nothing to see here, he needs privacy right now, not being stared at!”

A young woman blushes at his words and ushers her kid – probably the one who had dropped the books earlier - towards the stairs. The rest of the onlookers follow her example, more or less embarrassed by their own behavior. Bucky glares at the young girl – Chrissy her nametag says – again, lowering his voice. 

“Would you be so kind to bring him a glass of water? He might need it.”

Honestly, where are those peoples’ manners?! 

Thankfully, she hurries away, giving Bucky and Mr. Rogers some privacy again. The brunet turns back to the other with a smile, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. The blond’s eyes are a bit more focused now, but he still seems to be in a haze.

“Hello there, welcome back. As I said, you’re safe, you’re in a library and nothing’s going to hurt you here. You’ll have a nice cool glass of water any minute and you’ll feel loads better, promise. Always helps me, anyways.” 

He shrugs, trying for nonchalant. With every passing moment, color returns to Mr. Rogers’ cheeks and his breath is getting more even. Bucky accepts the glass of water the girl brings without looking at her, leaning forward ever so slightly. 

“Is it okay if I come a bit closer to give it to you?”

He waits patiently, receiving a tiny nod after a long moment. Moving in slow-motion, Bucky holds out the glass. Steve’s hand is still shaking a little when he reaches out, too, and he flinches slightly at the brush of their fingers as he takes the glass. 

Bucky’s heart aches for the guy, but he doesn’t allow this feeling to show on his face, giving Steve an encouraging smile instead. 

“That’s it pal, slow sips. There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

Footsteps sound behind him, muffled by the carpet and Bucky is about to give whoever’s coming close again a piece of his mind, but decides against it when he recognizes the man as Mr. Rogers’ boss. The older man’s face is dark with concern.

“Steven!” His voice is soft and gentle. He’s not coming any closer, though, careful not to crowd his employee. “Chrissy told me what happened, are you alright?”

It’s kind of a stupid question but Bucky gets it. What else is one supposed to say? At least the older man whose name he’s forgotten seems concerned in earnest.

“Shall I send for an ambulance?”

Looking up at the man from where he’s still sitting on the floor, Bucky shakes his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mr. Rogers do the same.

“No, I don’t think so. He had some sort of flashback when a boy dropped some books, but I think he’s gotten out of it by now.”

The head of the library sighs. “Mr. Rogers was hoping to avoid situations like these starting to work here, after all this is supposed to be a place of absolute peace. But apparently, nothing’s guaranteed. No, no, what are you doing, Steven, sit down!”

The blond has tried to stand up, swaying a little on his feet. Thankfully, he doesn’t lash out when his boss grabs his elbow to steady him. With Bucky’s help, they lead him to the chair behind the counter where they force him to drink the entire glass of water. 

“I’m fine, Mr. Erskine, I can continue the shift-”, Steven mumbles at one point. His boss nearly bursts a vein at that.

“Absolutely not, you are going to go home and take care of yourself. Chrissy can manage the rest of the shift just fine on her own. I told you when I hired you, it’s absolutely within your right to not feel okay some days; and when you don’t feel okay you go home early or not come to work at all. There will be no consequences, Steven. I just want you to be okay.”

The blond gulps and, for some reason, looks at Bucky for help. Who gives him an encouraging smile.

“He’s right, pal, you have to take care of yourself. It’s okay to have bad days”, he says quietly. 

Mr. Rogers attempts to argue for another few minutes, but in the end, the caves. His boss personally sees him to the door and makes sure he’s alright for his way home, even offers a cap which his employee declines. Probably for the best. Fresh air is always better after an episode, Bucky knows from experience.

He has to fight the urge to see Rogers home himself, make sure he’s getting to wherever he’s living safely – it’s ridiculous since he really doesn’t know the guy and probably would be no small amount of embarrassing for the librarian. 

So Bucky simply sits down at the desk he’s been working at for the last few hours and releases a deep breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Opposite to the calm he had radiated helping Steven Rogers through his backflash, Bucky now feels shaky and exhausted himself. 

Closing his eyes he does the breathing exercise his therapist taught him. After a few minutes, his heart rate slow and he can open his eyes again. There’s a headache looming behind his temple. Sighing, Bucky packs away his laptop and phone.

Time to call it a day.


End file.
